The Morning After
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Sequel to For One Night. The morning after brings heartbreak for Chance and Ilsa.


The blinding whiteness of consciousness prodded her out of the blackened cocoon of her lovely slumber. The musky heat of a sweat-slicked, rum-induced night lingered in the sheets enveloped her in a welcome warmth; a slight contrast to the cool air of an air conditioned loft that brushed over her bare shoulder when a slip of bronze skin peeked out from under the dark blue of the cotton sheets. Her sleepy brown eyes were gritty and burning with a lingering drowsiness combined with the splitting headache that accompanied the night after a drinking binge with her _business _partner. The jumble of scents that assault her nostrils as she inhales a lung full of oxygen.

There, lingering in his bedsheets was the distinctive scent of sweat, expensive perfume and cologne - or was it aftershave? The last scent was by far the most dominant. It was the smell of what had gone on between them last night. Evidence of the swallowed groans, breathless gasps and murmurs of encouragement, of need, of want and of a longing to forget. It was a smell that was familiar to anyone who had ever experienced the more sensual aspects of the bedroom.

_It was the smell of sex. _

She tucked the dark blue sheet around her body as she sat up and took in the sight of his loft. The clothing scattered haphazardly around the room, the empty rum bottle lay on it's side on the coffee table, the mussed bed sheets. The decided lack of a certain blue-eyed, blonde former assassin. Of course he wouldn't be here. It was his defense mechanism. Get close enough for a physical release and then push them away before any type of emotional attachment could form and get in the way of his distant demeanor.

"Morning," His soft rasp broke through her train of thought and pulled her eyes away from the mess of a loft. Her eyes reluctantly met his bright blue pools - damn those beautiful eyes - and she couldn't help but wonder exactly emotionally distant he was trying to be. As far as she knew, being emotionally distant usually didn't involve bringing women coffee. He broke the intense gaze and made his way over to her, resting one knee on the bed as he lowered a coffee mug within her reach.

"Morning." Her voice was hoarse; rougher and much harsher than her usual smooth British cadence.

"Mister Chance, I-"

"Look Ilsa, I know we need to talk about last night." Chance sighed harshly, cutting her off with a shake of his head as he repositioned to sit on the edge of the bed. Ilsa didn't know whether to take that as a sign that he wanted to talk or that he was simply brushing her off until it was convenient for him and he had, had time to brush aside any kind of emotional attachment he may have had for her at one time. The thought of doing the same as far as her feelings for him went occurred to her until it became quite clear her feelings for the ex-assassin ran much deeper than his did for her.

"So that's it then?" Ilsa spat bitterly; the green porcelain of her coffee mug slammed down with a hard thump on the splintered wood of his nightstand as she slammed it down. She shoved the sheet away from her body and scrambled out of the bed in a frenzied rush to get dressed and _get out _before her anger turned into an intense hurt. "That's it, we just spend the night together and that's it? You're going to brush me off like I'm nothing."

"No, Ilsa..." Chance watched her scramble to get dressed in her clothes from the previous evening. "Ilsa, wait!"

"I'm not doing this, Mister Chance." Ilsa hissed turning to face him. He was staring at her with that look on his face. That damn wounded puppy look that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't resist. Those eyes that no matter how hard she tried, locked with hers in an intense gaze. "What?"

"I want to talk, Ilsa." Chance rasped, taking a sip of his coffee. "I do. But you have to understand - "

"I understand just fine." Ilsa spat, glaring at him coldly.

"No you don't." Chance growled, unable to meet her harsh, unyieldingly cold gaze. "You don't understand, Ilsa."

"What's there to understand, Mister Chance?" Ilsa hissed angrily, "I was just a one-night stand to you. That's it. A night of cheap thrills."

"That's not true and you know it!" His temper was getting the best of him and he knew it. He wouldn't have taken such a harsh tone with her if it wasn't. He willed his temper back under his control; softening his tone when it became blatantly obvious that he was on the verge of doing something he would regret later.

She pushed and he shoved; she yelled and he screamed. It was a never ending push-pull cycle between the two. They were both dominant and each expected the other to immediately see it their way. Their stubbornness toward making the other see reason clouded their judgment of each other and fights got out of hand. The push-pull turned into a game of who could shove harder and the fights turned into inexorable battles of who could verbally lash the other more.

"Than what? What am I, Chance?" Ilsa yelled at him, forcing his domineering personality into submission. "What am I then, Chance?"

"You're more than just a night of cheap thrills, Ilsa." Chance snapped angrily even as his eyes flickered with regret at having made her feel like a night of cheap thrills is all she was worth to him. He needed her to understand that she was more. He couldn't lose her. Not now. "You are."

"I'm not doing this," Ilsa shook her head as she finished getting dressed and shoved her feet into her heels. "I'm not going in circles trying to figure out what the hell last night meant to you. I'm tired of trying to figure out what the hell you're feeling or thinking because it's quite obvious you don't know."

"What are you going to do? Run away again?" It was unusual for him to taunt her like this but he wasn't about let her walk away from him like this. It would have been too easy to let her go. He had learned long ago that anything worth keeping required effort. He could almost see the muscles in her back tighten as she turned back to him, obviously ready to chew him up and spit him out again. He sighed softly; vulnerably, "I'm tired, Ilsa."

"What do you have to be tired of?"

"I'm tired of whatever's going on between us being so tense and awkward." Chance told her wearily, resting his hands on his hips in that delicious way he did when he was thinking. "I'm tired of not knowing what it's going to be between us from one day to the next. I want you to stay most of the time but sometimes when you start to leave, I have to force myself to make you stay. I'm tired of thinking that if I fight to keep you here, it may not work next time."

"Why do you want me here?" Ilsa's dark eyebrows arched in confusion.

"You keep me from signing my own death sentence." Chance admitted in a rare moment of openness. "With you here, I have someone to come back too, someone who wants me to make it back alive."

"Then why do you push me away like this?" Ilsa challenged him.

"Because I'm afraid that if I get to close to you, I'll get you killed just like did with - "Chance cut himself off, already knowing he had gone past the point of return. He had to tell her now. If he didn't, she'd find out in one way or another. "...With Katherine."

"I can take care of myself, you know." Ilsa shook her head at his utter idiocy. "If you really think that you're going to get me killed, you doubt my efficiency with a gun."

"I've seen your efficiency with a gun." Chance told her softly, "It's not that."

"Then please, tell me what's going on?" Ilsa begged him to answer the question, crossing her arms over her chest. "Chance, please? I can't keep playing this guessing game with you. It doesn't work."

"What happened last night can't happen again." Chance told her carefully; his words clipped as his guard went back up. "It just can't."

Tears welled in her eyes faster than she could blink them away but she forced her eyes to focus. Without so much as a word in response, she made her way over to him, placed her hands on his strong shoulders and pressed a soft, lingering kiss into his cheek. This was it. She couldn't handle the heartbreak of being near him anymore. It stopped here; she had to put her guard up. With one last whisper in his ear, she picked up her jacket and purse and left the loft and his life. In his effort to keep her with him, to protect her, he had lost her anyway. With a sad sigh and not-so-carefully concealed tears, he collapsed on his bed in defeat. Her last words to him before she walked out of his life for good, still ringing in his head.

_"Goodbye, Mister Chance."_

* * *

><p><strong>No happy ending for Chance and Ilsa. I didn't want to write something cheesy and unrealistic. Let's face it, after the events of <strong>_**For One Night, **_**in all likelihood, Ilsa would have left because Chance would have put his guard back up. I wanted to explore that and have her leave just because in my mind, I think she would have left. I certainly would have if Chance did that too me, no matter how hot he is. I wouldn't stick around if he was going to do that to me. I couldn't handle it. Anyway, leave me some love Dolls.**

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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